No Reflection
by Lisa Jane
Summary: Their romance was always thought to be sweet - what if it wasn't? What if it was only one sided?


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No Reflection

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Disclaimer: Macaan, Lemia, other people and settings (excepting Reika Forest) belongs to Chris Wooding and Steve Kyte.

The girl's faced wavered as the ripples of the lake flowed over her face. Her green eyes widened as her long dark hair flew around her back from the mild wind. The leaves in the trees rustled on the branches, and a leaf slowly fell down to the water, breaking the ripples on the lake and sprialling them into another direction. Her eyes suddenly grew curious as her arm stretched out and her fingertips touched the cool water. 

It took the scurring of a cococo nearby to snap Lemia's attention away from her reflection, turning her head. Staring up at the velvet sky through the leaves, she wondered how long she had been out here. Standing and turning, Lemia cursed as the bottom of her scarlet dress brushed the lake, soaking it. She started to run down the path through Reika Forest of which she had come down by, gathering the front of her dress in her hands, her emerald slipped feet padding across the ground softly. 

After awhile, the trees parted to the view of a hill, on which stood Fane Aracq, looking ghostly within the velvet of its surrounds. Lemia leant against one of the trees slightly and placed a hand over her stomach as she felt her four month old unborn baby budge painfully. It wasn't going to be the most easiest pregnancy in the worlds. She slowly began to walk up the hill, catching her breath as she neared the top. Walking towards one of the entrances of Fane Aracq, she turned at a voice. 

"My Lady!" 

Lemia turned to see one of the messengers running towards her. She wondered what he wanted as he stopped a metre or so in front of her and bowed. 

"You may rise." 

The messenger did so, "My Lady, the King requests an audience with you." 

"Does he request an audience with me alone or with others?" Lemia inquired. She prayed it would be with others. 

"With others, my Lady," he replied. 

Lemia nodded, walking towards him, "Take me to him." 

The messenger squinted at her, "I beg your pardon, my Lady, but are you alright? You look flushed." 

Lemia smiled softly, "I am fine, just a little breathless. Thank you for your concern." 

The messenger turned away and started walking in the way he came. Lemia followed him, staring up at the sky once more. She wondered why Macaan wanted an audience with her. She didn't care what he did, she just cared whether she was part of it. If he wanted an audience, then she would have to be part of his business. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? 

The cream-stone doors were shut to Macaan's throne room when they reached there. `Our throne room,' Lemia thought with no emotion. 

"My Lady, the King waits," the messenger suddenly spoke up, bowing once more and scurring away. 

Lemia pushed open the doors. The sight that greeted her was not uncommon to her eyes. Macaan sat in his over-made up throne at the opposite end of the room, her own empty throne to his right. Guardsmen stood at posts around the room, and there were a few prisoners, whom looked like they were in a great deal of pain, standing rather strangely in the centre of the room, surronded by more Guardsmen. 

The throne room was beautiful and simple, made entirely of cream-stone, like everything else in the palace. On one side of room, large wind-holes, half the length of herself and three times her width, stood in even spaces along the wall. Rare white glowstones shone between the wind-holes. The floor had no decorations, and on the centre of the other side of the wall was a mirror, the size of many men, like the one in Macaan's sanctum. Large, thin, ornate rugs, spun finely of ruby, violet, black and gold hung on the walls either side of the mirror. A large portrait of Macaan himself hung over his throne. But it was the ceiling that Lemia loved the most, entirely painted dark velvet and there were little white dots all over it, as stars, and it looked very much like the night sky that Lemia missed back in the Dominions. 

She now walked around the assembly in the middle of the room to stand in front of Macaan. As she curtsied formally while he stood down to greet her, she ignored the soft smile and loving look in his eyes. Lemia rose and walked past Macaan, taking her throne and folding her hands in her lap, regarding the prisoners. With a brief glance at her and an inward sigh, Macaan sat once more down on his throne. 

"Last time," he began, staring at the prisoners coldly, "I let you off easily, each of you were given forty lashings. However, I did say that if there was a repeat of the incident, you would not be let off as easily as then." 

Lemia turned to him and whispered softly, as the prisoners stared nervously at them, "I beg your pardon, my King, but what have they done before and what have they done this time?" 

Macaan waved his hand over the prisoners, speaking as softly as Lemia, "These are the traitors that caused a riot in their village, half of them were traitors to us and the other half, the ones that are not here, support us. The riot came out of hand, and attacked some of the other nearby villages. They were punished, and they were informed that if there were a repeat of the incident, then the punishment would be more severe. A repeat did happen," Macaan held Lemia's eyes with his own, and spoke even more quietly, "I called you here to make the decision on their fate." 

Lemia paused, "Last time they received forty lashings, correct?" 

"That is correct." 

Lemia narrowed her eyes, "You know I do not like taking part in your affairs, my King," she said coldly, "You are the ruler of this country, not I, and it is up to you what you do with your subjects and civilians of this country," she fell silent, staring back over the prisoners. 

Macaan looked at her with the look in his eye that said `we will discuss this afterwards' and also turned back, "We have decided on your punishment, and that of your village." 

A prisoner tried to argue, "But the village have not done anything!" 

"SILENCE!" Macaan yelled to him, standing from his throne, anger in his eyes, "DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!" 

The prisoner let out a pained yelp as a Guardsman quickly swung him in the back of the kneecaps with his boot hard, making the prisoner fall onto his knees. 

Macaan's voice went back to its usual calm as he spoke next, with no mercy, "The prisoners will be executed in three cycles time. During that time, they will stay in the dungeons, and there will be no contact between themselves or others at all. As for the village, the supporters are free, while the traitors will be sent to the Mines, as will their families," He stared out once more over the prisoners, then sat back on his throne, "The prisoners and Guardsmen are dismissed." 

Lemia watched as the Guardsmen roughly pushed and pulled the screaming prisoners out the doors, and the Guardsmen who had been at their posts followed. Eventually the doors closed once more, leaving herself and Macaan in uncomfortable silence. 

"Where were you eariler?" Macaan asked gently, in an attempt to break the ice, "Were you unaware that there was to be an audience?" 

Lemia studied her hands, or at least, looked like she was studying them, "I was unaware of the audience, Macaan. I was out in Reika Forest, like I often am, and if you knew me well, you would know that on your own." 

Macaan turned in his throne towards her, eyes flashing angrily, but the anger quickly died out. Lemia sat there like a silent statue. It was true, if he did know her well enough, he would've known. But he could not know her well if she would not open up to him. He loved her so much, but he knew with a dark heart that she did not return those feelings for him. The uncomfortable silence resumed. 

"Why is it that you do not take part in affairs of Kirin Taq?" Macaan asked, more out of the need of conversation other than really wanting to know. He knew anyway. 

Lemia sighed softly to herself, "I have told you many times before. You are the King of Kirin Taq, and what you say are what most Kirins abide by. I may be the Queen, but I am only your wife and not even born of royal blood," her slender hands rested on her stomach gently, "I carry the child that will take your place when you die, and I am only by your side to make you look good as King, that is why we married." 

Macaan shut his eyes. What she said wasn't true, didn't she understand that? He had not married her for the reasons she stated, he had married her because he was desperately in love with her. When they were younger, she had been in love with him also, and they had carried on for years like love sick puppies and sex-driven teenagers. They both had decided they had wanted to marry, but then when they did so. . . 

Who or what had changed? 

"What changed between us, sweetheart?" he whispered softly, "How can we change it back?" 

Lemia swallowed hard, fighting away the burning tears at the back of her eyes, "It is nothing you have done," she replied in a monotone voice, "What we had is in the past. Please let me go." 

Instead of obeying her, Macaan's eyes tightened around her waist, and he kissed her bare shoulder softly, shutting his eyes and letting a couple of his own tears slip, "I love you so much, can't you see that?" 

Lemia paused, then gently pried his fingers apart from each other and slipped gently out of his embrace, "I know, but. . ." Unable to finish what she had started, she quickly walked towards the doors, opened them, and walked out, letting them swing shut behind her. 

Macaan stared at the empty room with glassy ice eyes, "But what?" 

Lemia ran quickly from the doors, refusing to let the tears drop. God she hated when he would strike chords inside her like that. He just wouldn't leave her alone, but somewhere she knew that she didn't want him to because she still. . .she smashed the thought. 

Upon reaching her chambers, she pushed open the door and closed it behind her, swiftly making her way towards a wide shallow bowl of water on a pedestal. She gazed down into it as a couple of hot tears finally made their way out of her eyes and splashed down onto the water, but this time there was no reflection to disturb. 

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"I look at you all, see the love, there that's sleeping  
While my guitar gently weeps  
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping  
Still my guitar gently weeps  
I don't know why nobody told you  
How to unfold your love  
I don't know how someone controlled you  
They bought and sold you 

I look at the world and I notice it's turning  
While my guitar gently weeps  
With every mistake we must surely be learning  
Still my guitar gently weeps  
I don't know how you were diverted  
You were perverted too  
I don't know how you were inverted  
No one alerted you 

I look at you all, see the love, there that's sleeping  
While my guitar gently weeps  
Look at you all. . .  
Still my guitar gently weeps 

('Still My Guitar Gently Weeps', the Beatles)


End file.
